


Midland

by not_whelmed_yet



Series: CyWhirl Week [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: (but everyone's still robots), Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, M/M, Meticulous Labyrinth Mapping, Monster Hunters, Violence, timeskip epilogue at the end there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_whelmed_yet/pseuds/not_whelmed_yet
Summary: Cyclonus hadn’t planned on going monster hunting in the Undergrid when he’d ventured into Iacon that morning. He’d been low on supplies and weary of solitude. He'd hoped that Scourge might have left word at one of the local oilshops, if he’d made it back from his contract in Polyhex.
Relationships: Cyclonus/Whirl (Transformers)
Series: CyWhirl Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684027
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48
Collections: Lynn's Flashfiction & Oneshots





	Midland

**Author's Note:**

> CyWhirlWeek Day 3, featuring a Witcher Fusion AU because oh god my dreams are haunted by transformers/witcher fusion AUs all the time now
> 
> I really thought I might stay (roughly) on target for wordcount ( _theoretically i'm shooting for 1,750 words each time and just missing badly_ ) up until I got to the last scene, rip me and my attempts to learn brevity

Cyclonus hadn’t planned on going monster hunting in the Undergrid when he’d ventured into Iacon that morning. He’d been low on supplies and weary of solitude. He'd hoped that Scourge might have left word at one of the local oilshops, if he’d made it back from his contract in Polyhex.

No luck there, but he’d been cornered at one of those oilshops and presented with a contract. He never made it far in cities without someone sniffing out that he didn’t belong among the normal citizens. He wasn’t in the position to turn down contracts, no matter how little they paid, so he’d gotten it all in writing and headed down into the labyrinth beneath the city surface.

Some of his fellows liked to hurl themselves headfirst into a hunt. Cyclonus preferred a slower approach, especially in a maze like the Undergrid. It was too easy to get lost, cornered. Especially when you didn’t know what or _who_ you were hunting. Cyclonus was always suspicious of cityfolk who claimed to have monsters in need of dispatching. They never knew what they were talking about and the danger would often reveal itself to be imaginary, exaggerated, or misrepresented. That did not mean there was no risk. Just that there was no way to gauge the level of risk.

He found the labyrinth entrance where it had been promised, the entrance barricaded and marked with the red cross of death. He sat down in the grit and pulled his most accurate Undergrid map into his HUD, locating himself in relation to the magnetic pull of the planet and the sensornet tugging orientation of the city’s powerlines laid in the ground above them. He would use this map as a base to chart the tunnels as he went.

Then he sank deeper, activating the subroutines to amplify his senses and sharpen his reflexes as he had been taught. The world thrummed at the edges of his frame, pressing in like he was being buried alive. He pushed through it, seeking the focus on the other side of pain.

When he was ready, prepared his supplies and set about dismantling the barricade.

This labyrinth was low-ceilinged and many layered, a true warren designed with the purpose of trapping monsters. The populace assumed that monsters were too stupid to escape a labyrinth; in reality designs like this had originally been used as a form of execution for citizen lawbreakers. Drive a monster into a trap like this and even the most docile of creatures would feel threatened enough to defend themselves against intruders. Oh how the uncomfortable truths of the past had a way of winnowing their way into something more palatable...

Cyclonus found his first would-be monster hunter on the third level down, barely a hundred meters south of the main entrance. They were hardly equipped for the job, a laser pistol with a scope still grasped in their left hand. Their helm had been crushed against the wall, square indentations on either side of the face pointing towards a clawed quarry. They were strong and at least almost as tall as the shopkeeper had promised. Cyclonus continued on his way.

The next bodies were a pair who’d clearly tried to tangle it in an electric net. Cyclonus could feel the live charge still sparking from its torn mesh, crawling over his plating like worms. He did not go closer.

He worked his way through the upper levels of the labyrinth, finding no other hunters but a few clues. There was the smell of oxidized energon on the air and clawmarks torn through the metal walls in the east corner. The scent was stronger leading towards the hatchway down below. It wasn’t the clean scent of spilled engex or fueling-grade energon. Someone had bled a great deal, enough that the part of it that lay in the air as vapor made him nauseous. Cyclonus retreated back towards the entrance.

He used the journey back to double-check the map he was constructing. He knew the length of his stride and he knew the outer dimensions of the labyrinth. On his way back he checked that the hallways and passages fit within those dimensions. If he needed to retreat in a hurry that map would be his lifeline.

Back at the entrance, he considered his approach into the lower levels. He had no evidence that his quarry was predatory. They were certainly capable of fighting back when provoked; Cyclonus did not intend to provoke them. But if they had senses half as keen as his, they would soon know Cyclonus was in the maze with them and come seeking him out. His sword might read as aggression whether or not he intended it to and he could not abandon it.

Galvatron would dismiss him as soft-sparked for it, but Cyclonus still believed a gentle touch was the mark of a great hunter. He slipped out to the hallway beyond and fetched his bag of supplies. He tipped a small vial the hypnotic he used to drag himself into sleep into the cask with his remaining fuel supply. He kept a small stack of dented bowls to use as lures, when he had the chance.

He dropped down into the lower levels at each of the seven hatchways to lay his trap. He used a small snap heater under each bowl to speed the diffusion of the aroma. Then he retreated out beyond the entrance to wait. However his quarry interacted with the lures, that would be a clue to their nature. Cyclonus sharpened his sword and tried to keep his mind free of assumptions. There were strange things in the Undergrid, things even Galvatron had never written into his books. There was nothing more deadly than being sure of a lie.

He could have waited a full night, but the shopkeeper might decide Cyclonus had been killed and offer his contract to a competitor. Always in such a hurry, cityfolk. Cyclonus ventured back into the labyrinth.

The first and second lures were untouched. The third bowl was empty and overturned, most of the fuel splattered against the wall. There were no signs of his quarry within twenty paces of the branching tunnels that led from the hatchway; Cyclonus retreated back up the ladder. The fourth lure had not been disturbed, but the fifth and sixth - the two hatchways closest together - were both empty. Cyclonus caught that scent of oxidized energon and decay again and followed it inwards from the sixth hatchway. The scent led him to a vault hidden within one of the walls, the concealed door not quite closed back properly. There was clawmarks, again, on the frame around the inset handle.

He dragged the door open and even just the dim glow of his biolights were enough to identify the “monster” he had been sent after.

“Primus, let those who offered this contract be fools and not murderers,” Cyclonus muttered. Cityfolk. They could always sense that he didn’t belong and did their best to see him to the city gates. But not everyone marked as unnatural had the benefit of a blessed sword with which to force that courtesy.

* * *

The blue mech shifted slightly, then groaned. Optic stuttering alive again, he pushed a claw against the ground to shove himself upright.

“Go slowly,” Cyclonus warned. “The hypnotic tends to muddle one’s proprioception, you’ll be less coordinated did you think.”

“Who the heeeeeeeeeeck are you?” The mech asked. “Did you drug me?”

“I am Cyclonus of Upper Tetrahex and, yes, I did. In my defense: I’d been told you were as tall as three tanks, were bulletproof, and had an unending hunger for fresh energon. It seemed a reasonable precaution.”

“Got the unending hunger part right,” he said. “Cycloooonus, eh? Cyclonus. Are you here to kill me, Cyclonus?” The mech leaned his helm against the wall of the small vault, squinting blearily at him.

“I am not an assassin, I do not contract to kill people,” Cyclonus said.

“You’re one of those monster hunters, aren’t you. You have the sword,” he said. “And you’re not quite...right.”

“Yes, I am. You’re sensing the influence of the Dead Universe,” he explained, tapping his chest over his spark casing. “Your empurata is recent, I take it?”

“Couple of weeks, I think. I’ve kinda been losing track of time down here,” the mech said. “So if you’re not going to kill me, Cyclonus, what are you watching me sleep for? Just to be creepy?”

“I was responsible for drugging you, I couldn’t leave and risk the hunter they sent after me would find you helpless and take advantage,” Cyclonus said. “If you’ll let me, I would like to tend to your injuries and help you escape the city. I know a way out via the Undergrid.”

“And where would I go?” he asked, snipping his claws in the air for emphasis. “They don’t take more kindly to freaks and traitors out in the wilds than they do in the city and I have no desire to spend the rest of my life running or starving for fuel.”

Cyclonus’s mouth moved before his brain could catch up. “I have a place you could stay. I’ve built a home up in the ruins above Tetrahex. It may not have all the comforts of city life, but it’s better than the wilds. It’s private. Nobody except my swordbrothers know its location.”

The mech squinted at him in silence, then looked down at his claws. “And why the hell would you offer to take me there? You just met me.”

Cyclonus considered it. It was unlikely the mech would accept the explanation that Scourge would have immediately offered - that Cyclonus led with his spark and only rarely followed with his brain. He wished he had something to drink. He wished he hadn’t dosed all of his energon supply, on the assumption that he’d be paid shortly and able to buy more at the dispensary. “I have had a lot of time to get used to being...not quite right. Being feared. I have often wished that someone would have shown me kindness when that transformation first happened. Given me a chance to find a path forward on my own terms.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re a softie,” the mech said.

“I’m willing to wait for you to make your decision,” Cyclonus said. “Do not feel pressured to come with me. I am willing to lead you just to the edge of the city and you can fly wherever you wish.”

“What possible path forward can there even be for me? Everything I had, they’ve taken away.”

“What did you do, before?” Cyclonus asked.

“I was a chronosmith.” The mech said, voice thick with anguish.

Cyclonus looked at those claws, strong enough to crush a bot’s helm as you slammed them against a wall or rip through the mesh of an electronet. Not a craftsman’s hands. “I grieve for your loss,” he said. “But you do not need to die with your art. You have a sound mind and a strong frame and are welcome on the winds. Primus will offer you a path forward, whenever you’re ready.”

“You know, I didn’t realize you monster hunting folks were so freaking optimistic. I guess they don’t talk about that much, it’d ruin your fearsome reputation.” Hesitantly, he offered Cyclonus a claw to shake. “I’m Whirl, by the way. And I guess, sure. I’ll let you take me to your creepy monster hunting château.”

* * *

Cyclonus made it halfway up the walkway before collapsing on one of the benches they’d carved. The world was spinning, the night electric with sensations that pinged against his brain like hail. His leg hurt. He didn’t remember hurting his leg but it hurt nonetheless, Whirl was sure to raise a fuss.

Cyclonus let his optics wander over their garden, the walls of the walkway draped with hyphae with drooping crystal fruits. The night chitterers were buzzing in the trellis above, glowing faintly like moving stars. The creatures had heard his approach up the mountainside, a howling had gone up behind the house that was sure to drag Whirl out of his comfy berth to rescue him. Cyclonus could just relax until he showed up, letting the sounds of their home overwhelm him with their familiar symphony.

“Cyclonus, you utter bastard!” Whirl shouted. “You snuck out of the house! You snuck out to take the contract without me after I _vetoed_ it!”

Cyclonus nodded in agreement. He _had_ done that. “You sleep like a rock.”

“Oh, are we starting in on sleep habits? You don’t want to go there, Hornhead, I have way too much ammunition. And anyway, I’m not letting you distract me from being mad at you.” Whirl crouched down beside the bench checking Cyclonus’s leg over. “Nasty creature went and bit you with its nasty honking fangs. You bled all over the berth last week, you know.”

“You could leave me out here,” Cyclonus said.

“And let your pets eat you? I’m sorry, Cy, but some of your strays are not nearly as domesticated as you think they are. We’re going in the house until you’ve washed up and don’t smell like food.” Whirl wormed his arms under Cyclonus and lifted him up against his chest. “I am going to hunt down Scourge and give him a piece of my mind tomorrow morning, you know. You were injured, the job could wait until you were fully healed.”

“What if someone got hurt?” Cyclonus said.

“Someone did get hurt, dumbass. You got hurt.” Whirl nudged the door open with his hip and carried Cyclonus across the room to their berth, the lights already dimmed in anticipation of Cyclonus’s light sensitivity. It still hurt. Cyclonus buried his face in Whirl’s chest to block them out.

Whirl stroked a soothing claw along his arm, waiting for Cyclonus to uncurl on his own. “You know you’re precious, right? To me. What’s that slag you said back when we met? ‘Ye need not perish for the sake of your art’ or whatever. If you go and get yourself killed hunting monsters and I’m at your side then fine, that’s a pretty badass way to die. But if you get killed alone, because you took stupid risks and didn’t take care of yourself I am going to be _extremely cross_.”

“As opposed to what you are right now…”

“Which is _mildly cross_. You’re not going to see extremely cross, because you’re going to make better decisions and keep yourself safe.” Whirl curled in around Cyclonus like a blanket. “Because if you die I’m going to venture into the labyrinth of the Pits Below and drag you back out by your horns, you hear me?”

“I love you too,” Cyclonus said.

“Shut up, I’m mad at you.”

“I thought you were mildly cross?”

**Author's Note:**

> As always with my one-day ficlets, there's probably typos and grammar things I missed (feel free to point me at any mistakes you notice)
> 
> As always, I love comments and you can find me online @notwhelmedyet. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed 💕


End file.
